Rattled

I'm struggling.

As suspected a couple weeks ago, I'm getting closer to facing the sexual abuse. I cry about it far easier than I ever did in the past. It happened again today. Have any of you seen the "rape analogy" going around Facebook recently? I was worried it was going to be a tasteless joke, but it wasn't at all. Here's the link.

I made a comment on Facebook about the awful things a defense attorney will say in that kind of situation. Then I thought about how it's not always an attorney being paid to say those things. There are "average" people walking around that believe those things. They believe a woman "asked" to be assaulted. That they may be complaining now, but they actually enjoyed it. That the woman has some kind of ulterior motive or bone to pick with the man. That was the main argument in my case. My mom and dad were going through an ugly divorce and the defense, meaning my dad and his attorney, said that my mom and I "cooked up" the allegations so that my mom would win complete custody of my sisters. I wasn't in the court room for most of the case aside from my testimony and the closing statements. The prosecuting attorney and detective warned me that the defense wouldn't be kind, and they were right. Even though I knew it was his job, I had to fight to stay seated and not stand up and scream at him. It was a horrible experience. But do you know whats  worse?

When your own family believes those things.

My sister believed my dad that my mom and I made it up. He told my sisters that we were going to "cook something up" before I even told anyone, so to her it made complete sense. He said it would happen and it did.  My own sister. There was a friend of the family who also chose to believe this, and while that hurt, it was easy to cut her out of my life and move on. But my sister was there. She knew he was crazy, violent, abusive, manipulative and angry. But all she could see was her family being torn apart, and someone had to be blamed. It couldn't be him - he wanted to stay home, to work things out. 

My Bruised Heart by ~murtada-king on deviantART

On a related note, I have been thinking about how difficult it is to really face what happened to me and how horrifying it all was. So I seek validation from outside sources. No matter how much I get, it's never enough. No matter how many people I tell the story to, how many people are shocked by or how many people tell me how strong I must be to have survived, I need more. The only way (at this time) I know to face it is be reliving the memories, which would only lead to retraumatization. Part of me feels like the people that should really get it, my family, do not. (This is not about everyone in my family by the way.) Right now, the pain of that realization feels fresh. What comes to mind is that my heart is bruised. When I most needed their support to heal my heart, they assumed I "had Aaron" and their job was done. After all those years of abuse, don't you think that is an awful lot put on one person? Don't get me wrong, he's handled it beautifully (I swear, I don't know how I got so lucky), but I, like every other human being, need a support system. I can't help but feel I would be more at peace, content and generally happier if I had that. I have Studdly Hubby's family now, but that relationship is still growing. I have trouble depending on other people in some ways, and so I haven't reached out to them as much as I probably could. It's a difficult spot to be in to gripe about not having it and then not reaching out and taking it when it's offered.

But I digress.

During my inner work yesterday, I came across a memory/flashback. I saw myself standing in the basement, and my dad was pushing his finger in my anus. I've had these graphic and ugly mental images come up for, and quickly try to think about something else in an attempt to get rid of it as quickly as possible. I had to end the experience and open my eyes.

The whole thing left me rattled, for lack of a better word. I'm feeling vulnerable. Paper thin. I'm getting closer and closer to the memories and it's terrifying. I'm glad I've stayed in therapy this long, because clearly there is work yet to be done that I cannot and should not do alone. 

So that's where things stand for now. I do miss blogging, but I've really had to make schoolwork a priority, so something had to give, and unfortunately it was frequent blogging. I'm still here, with plenty to write about though!

Rachel

In Mourning

I wrote my last post last night, but couldn't publish it until today because, *gasp* Blogger was down! Since I initially wrote it, I've had time to process my feelings. And I've come to the conclusion that I am in mourning.

I am grieving the loss of my relationship with my family, whether it was positive or not. I'm grieving the loss of a part of my identity. I've always identified myself as part of a large family. The eldest daughter. The big sister. Those don't really feel like active roles anymore. I have been stripped of them in one way or another. 

But it goes even deeper than that. I've always felt somewhat maternal towards my sisters, particularly the youngest one. When she was little, I carried her everywhere. It's a wonder she ever learned how to walk! I remember our elementary school teachers calling me her second mom. My nickname for her was "Chica". I don't even remember how it got started. 

In high school, when Mom checked out in many ways, I was the one working, going to school and making dinner for 7 people. I felt responsible for them in many ways, even if we didn't always get along. I remember a day when Mom was driving me back to college after a weekend. My baby sister, who was 9 at the time, stood in the doorway with the saddest most heartbreaking look on her face. I felt a knot in the pit of my stomach, feeling guilty for leaving her there. 

In the next few years, I had a difficult time letting go of that responsibility, but I had to. My sisters did not see me as an authority. Nobody was listening to anything I had to say. I knew I had to let go, but it was not easy to do. I think I'm still working on it.

And so I mourn. Today, I felt physically bruised. My bones ached and my insides felt sore. I felt worn out. 

(Left to right) Me, Emily, Abby, Mom, Maria and Caroline

I realized yesterday, that of all the people that have come and gone throughout my life, the ones that have hurt me the most have been my immediate family. They may not always know they're doing it, but they are. Some of my greatest support has come from the most unlikely places; co-workers, cousins I never talked to before, friends of friends that I only know via the internet, bloggers that I only know through the internet, friends from college that I wasn't even that close to at the time...

God has blessed me over and over with a support system. I need to learn to refocus my attention on them rather than chasing after support from those that don't know how to give it.

Rachel

Heartbroken

Want to know what one of the worst after affects of child sexual abuse is?

It tears families apart.

I just got a lovely message from my baby sister (who is 16 by the way) that basically told me to hit the road and don't look back. She told me I was completely f***ed up by my past, and that I'm the one that should be in therapy, not our mom. She told me that I'm not treating my family the way they should be treated, particularly by not talking to mom, and that they are the ones who have supported me through everything. In reality, the past 9 months or so have been the hardest for me in healing. The most supportive and understanding people have come the most unlikely sources and my husband. But never from my family as a whole. One of my sisters understands better than the others and has always let me know I can talk to her, but that's about the extent of it. Whenever I talk to the rest of my sisters, I feel critisized in one way or another. Mom, on the other hand, just skirts around any potential issues. Not helpful. We grew up in a world of secrets, and not being able to talk about how we feel and skirting issues. It's time to get real.

Anytime I have an interaction with them, I end up in tears. My husband has had his fill. He said he hates seeing them hurt me over and over again. And I agree. My heart has been completely broken out and stomped on by them.

My blogger friend over at Pleasantly Demented has always had my back in this. She often reminds me that just because someone is related to you, doesn't mean they have the right to treat you with disrespect, or to demand respect from you without earning it. This is a difficult lesson to soak in when you've been raised to have absolute respect for your parents, but I think it's starting to sink in...

That's all I've got for now. No deep insight. Just hurt.

Rachel

Another Round of Memories

As I mentioned in my last post, therapy was interesting last night. I started out by sharing a memory that had popped up yesterday.

Only a thin sheet of nylon separated us from
my mom.

I was thinking about family vacations. I remember the last camping trip my family took because it was chock full of drama. We had family in Wisconsin, so that is where we would vacation every year, and the summer before I turned 14 was no different. My family couldn't afford a camper or RV, but we did have a very large, 2 room tent. Mom would sleep in the first room on an old army cot because her back hurt too much to sleep on the ground. My 4 sisters and I would sleep in the back room, and my step-dad did as well, probably "for our protection". Even though I was once again sleeping right next to my sisters, he would grope me when he thought I was asleep. I would pretend that I was and try to roll away from him. 

The thing I don't understand, is what excuse he must have given my mom to squeeze in with 5 girls when she was the only one in the other room? How did he justify that? Why wasn't it raising red flags for her? I know I've already talked about her very deep level of denial, but it never ceases to amaze me when I come across another memory that reinforces it.

After I talked about that particular memory, I got on a roll and several others came to mind. I remember a time when my step-dad was actually paying dock rent and was able to use his boat. He would take me out some mornings on his boat by myself. We would get breakfast at McDonald's on the way. I'm not entirely sure he took all my sisters out by themselves, but I know I went at least a few times. Anyway, he would drive the boat out to Lake Erie, sit in a chair and masturbate in front of me. I'm unsure of my age at this point, because I can't remember if he ever had the boat in the water again after he had it in our backyard. If he sold it after it was in the yard, as I suspect, then I was less than 6-7. I can remember driving from our house on Maple Blvd. to go to the boat at some point, but I can't remember if it was related to this kind of incident. 

I don't remember what I was feeling then, but in retrospect, I'm stuck by his changing levels of discretion. When we were on the boat,  we were in the middle of a lake. There was no one around to see or hear anything. He didn't have to be sneaky at all. When the boat was in the backyard, he would have to be sure no one climbed up into the boat, although he would have plenty of time to stop what he was doing by the time he heard them, they climbed into the boat and down into the cabin. When I was sleeping on the living room floor with my sisters several years later, all they had to do was wake up. Years after that, all someone had to do was walk around a corner.

When I talk about anything relating to my teen years, it helps to understand the layout of the house I was living in and how small it really was:

The main floor was probably a max. of 1000 sq. ft., likely less.
*Click on the image to enlarge

When I refer to the incident in which someone need only walk around a corner to see what was going on, I was standing in the bathroom doorway, while he stood at the end of the hallway. He had me pull my pants and underwear down and masturbate and put my finger in anus. 

This seems like as good a place as any to note that I faked it all.

Moving on...One of the times this was happening, one of my sisters was sitting in the living room. She heard me arguing with him. I'm sure he was especially rip-roaring drunk that day to be so sloppy. My sister heard me say something like "No, that's disgusting!" and "Well, I'm sorry I'm such an inconvenience to you!" Between this and the fact that she could hear him coming down to my room at night after she moved down there, she had a pretty good idea of what was going on. 

My sister approached my mom after that. She told her that "something was going on between Dad and Rachel". When my mom asked what she meant, she said that she didn't know, but it was something bad. I don't remember this, but my mom claims she asked me about it and that I denied anything was going on. This is entirely possible, because that is exactly what I would have done. But here's the kicker...she never said she asked him what was going on. As a mother, don't you think that would be a key piece of the puzzle? To ask both parties involved in this little mystery? Maybe it wasn't what your daughter was insinuating, maybe there was something and he would have a simple explanation. The only reason you wouldn't ask him is if you were afraid of the answer.

When the nicest house we ever rented was sold, we were forced to move. We had nowhere to go, so we ended up renting the top floor of an older couple's home that had been converted into a one bedroom apartment. All 7 of us. This was right before I turned 13. I remember him showing me porn on the computer when we were living there. I remember him peeking in at me when I was taking shower. I don't remember him doing it before that, probably because this would have been right around the time I was starting to develop physically. 

No privacy here...

I remember a particularly strange incident there as well. My sisters were outside playing, and my step-dad was sitting at the picnic table with the old man who own the house and lived downstairs. Right before he went out there, he asked me to rub a piece of bread between my legs and bring it out to him. I absolutely did not want to do it, because it was strange and I didn't want to get crumbs on me. I was repulsed by the idea. I got a piece of bread out of the bag and carried it out to him as is. He took, smelled it, said "You didn't do it right" and instructed me to go back and do it right. I went back up to the apartment, and sprinkled a few drops of tap water on the bread, in a desperate attempt to fool him. It didn't work, but I don't remember what did end up happening. I know I didn't do what he wanted though.

Ok, that's long enough for now! There's more, but I'm tired and feeling kind of emotionally vulnerable right now. I need to get some rest and write some more later.

Rachel

My Biological Father

I have never met my biological father, nor do I really know who he is. I have very few details about him, and I doubt the validity of those. Here's the story.

My mom was 29 or 30. She was single mom, with a 9 year old son from her first marriage. She was working in an office at Fermi II, a nuclear power plant. One winter night, she had a date with a contractor from the plant. His name was Jesse Patrickson. He was tall, with blonde hair and blue eyes. She seemed to remember that he may have mentioned having family in Pennsylvania. As the night wore on, Mom had a little too much to drink. He took her back to her apartment. He initiated sex, and she declined. He, however, insisted. Later, when she realized she was pregnant, she approached him to inform him of the situation and he offered to pay for the abortion. She wasn't interested. After I was born, she tried to pursue child support, but by then he had left town and the courts were unable to locate him.

That is literally everything I know. I cannot even put into words how strong my desire is to find him. Ideally, I would be able to meet him and have some time to talk to him, find out all about him. I'd like to know his likes and dislikes, his hobbies, everything about his childhood, his medical history...everything. I want to know what he looks like. I want to see photos of him when he was younger, and of his family. I don't look like my sisters or my brother, so it would be amazing to me to see someone who shares some of my physical characteristics. I want to know if I have more half-siblings. 

My sister's all have huge gorgeous eyes, as
does my mom.
Where do I get my little squinty ones?

I feel like it shouldn't matter; that I should feel complete without him. But I already have "daddy issues". I long for a real father, and while I realize he may not be interested, or I may not even like him, I can't help but desire the opportunity to find out. I've tried to rely on my Heavenly Father to fill that void, but even God intended for little girls to have daddy's. Inside, I'm still that little girl, looking for her daddy. I feel like finding him would bring me a great deal of closure. It's a part of me that is shrouded in so much mystery. I have to know. I have to find him. 

The trouble is, I don't know that I ever will.

I was talking about this the other day with a friend, and something clicked. I was thinking about how I only have the few specific details, and I don't know where he lives. It was exactly the same as the Chicago fiasco. We knew my car was there somewhere, and we knew some definite details, but we could not find it. In retrospect, we realized we had sat down right across the street from it. It was right in front of our faces, but we couldn't see it. I sometimes wonder if I do know my dad, and I'm not supposed to know who he is. That maybe the story of my conception is contrived to protect someone. It's just a theory. I have no idea. It just seems unlikely that in the age of the internet and social media, that I couldn't find this person. 

If anyone knows anything, please, let me know! Finding my father means more to me than I can even tell you.

Thanks for reading!

Eavesdropping Only Results in Hurt Feelings

"If you could choose any superpower, what you choose and why?" I've always like this ice-breaker question. Not because it is particularly insightful, but it almost always get a discussion going. My answer changes from time to time, but there are two powers I would never choose: Invisibility and Telepathy. Did you ever eavesdrop and hear something you weren't supposed to? We all say things in private that we don't want other people to hear. I don't want to hear the things that I most certainly would if someone thought I wasn't listening. Not everyone is going to love me. Not everyone is going to even like me. That's fine, but I don't need to hear why. I don't need to hear someone talking about my flaws. I know me, and I know my feelings would be hurt.

Today my sister shared her Open Diary page with me. I was nervous about reading it. I know I've ticked her off in the past, and vise versa. It's part of being sisters. I didn't want to come across an angry rant about me and end up with hurt feelings. But, after some hesitation, I followed the link. There was only a comment or two that hurt me in some way. Some amused me, and others just confused me. Lately, when I get new information or dig through a forgotten memory, I feel nauseous. Normally when I'm stressed I get headaches, but every now and then it is manifested in other physical ways. So I guess how I'm feeling now is nauseous. For some reason that's my only response at this point.

As I was reading Abby's blog, I was surprised by how many of her feelings I could relate with. I've never forgotten that she was abused in many ways as well, but I've never been certain how it's affected her - just that it had. But some of her posts could have been written by me. The feelings were that similar. I feel closer to her in a way.

Anyway, this is leading into a post about family, and I don't feel like dealing with all of that tonight!

In other news, Thursday is my 25th birthday. I'm taking the day off work (paid, thank you very much) to relax I guess. I wish I had more friends and family around here, but that's how it goes. Anyone want to take me out for drinks and an early dinner?? :-)

Oh, in case you were curious, I would choose teleportation. Its just so darn convenient!